


Rising Up

by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beginnings of a friendship, But he's not about to tell the world that, Dean is a skilled lip-syncer, Episode: s15e07 Last Call, Gen, Humor, Pre-Series, Stanford Era (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod/pseuds/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: Slight tag to 15x07. Preseries. “You can’t just sit around lip-syncing Eye of the Tiger while no one’s watching.” Thing is, back in 2001, Dean hadn’t realized Lee Webb was watching, especially since the older man was supposed to have been getting supplies. But Lee's not about to tell him he saw the one man band, not yet.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Rising Up

**Author's Note:**

> So I was rewatching some episodes before the new one this week, and Lee's line in 15x07: "You can't just sit around lip-syncing Eye of the Tiger while no one's watching" was not only amusing, but sparked this idea. I know it's more of a nod to the gag reel, but this idea just demanded to be written down and I actually had a fun time doing so.
> 
> Set in late 2001, a few months after Sam leaves for college. I don't own any music or characters or any of that. Enjoy!

Dean’s hand is curled around his gun before he’s even consciously aware of what’s going wrong. When he snaps fully awake not even a second later, it’s not to a monster in his face or a ghost making the room frosty, but to a horrendous banging at the door. A banging that does no good for the headache that’s already begun to spring up behind his eyes.

He takes a glance around the room to find it as he left it, nothing worrisome in the vicinity. Still not entirely convinced that there isn’t some form of danger, Dean keeps one hand safely on the gun and swings his legs off the bed.

“Yo, Dean-o, open up!” comes a voice from outside, finally.

Someone that knows him then. Dean glances at the digital clock next to the bed and sees that it’s a reasonable hour in the morning. The headache would’ve appreciated more sleep, but it’s not early enough to gripe about it.

As he stands and makes his way over to the door, he becomes more aware of his surroundings. John’s bed is empty next to him and doesn’t look slept in. It would be cause for concern if that hadn’t been the new normal Dean had witnessed recently.

Pages and clippings are still spread out over the small kitchenette table from the job they were still working. A mostly empty bottle of whiskey sits not far away, which Dean pegs as the cause of the headache. No dad plus a job plus whiskey…he opens the door, gun hand hidden safely behind it, and the last piece clicks into place.

Lee Webb stands on the other side, looking half annoyed at Dean’s state. Since they’ve only worked together once before, Dean doesn’t really think the slightly older man has a decent enough understanding of him to be able to judge, but whatever. Isn’t like he cares what Lee thinks anyways.

“The hell do you want?” Dean asks gruffly and passes the gun from his hand to the counter.

Lee continues taking in Dean’s appearance before he chuckles and shakes his head. It doesn’t take long for Dean to become the one annoyed. “What? I interrupt your beauty sleep, Winchester? Or your recovery from a bender nap?”

Dean just rolls his eyes and steps away from the door so Lee can follow him in and close it behind him. As he grabs a glass of water, Lee looks at the table and nods to himself. “Bit of both then, I see.”

“You really gonna make me repeat the question?” Dean presses, exasperated. He’s used to the pestering, it comes with raising a little brother. But this man isn’t Sam because Sam is across the country, and that’s as far as Dean is letting that train of thought go.

Lee lets out a low whistle. “You are a ray of sunshine in the morning, my friend.” At Dean’s less than nice glare back, he finally continues. “You weren’t picking up the phone, so your old man called me. He’s back down at the station, wanted us to grab a few extra supplies.”

“And you need me because…?” Dean trails off.

“You guys are the ones that picked me up two towns over and dragged my ass out here. Ergo, no car, you got it?”

“What, not a fan of exercise?”

It’s not like the bantering he can throw back and forth at Sam. Not yet. No one will ever have that, and spending just a few harrowing hours with Lee isn’t enough to make Dean extremely friendly. John’s got the younger man pretty well figured out, and Dean trusts his father’s instincts, but more proof to back them up is never a bad thing.

“I think running from ghosts counts enough, don’t you?” Lee fires back with just a slight smirk on his face.

“Touche,” Dean mutters. He downs his glass of water and lets the cup clank on the counter. “Fine. But you’re doing the legwork.”

Lee just shrugs in response. “Fine by me. A ‘thank you’ goes a long way too, you know.”

Dean pushes off from the counter and grabs his duffel to bring into the bathroom. “I’ll be out in five, you’d better be ready.” He closes the bathroom door behind him, not bothering to wait for Lee’s response.

Enclosed in his own four walls, Dean takes something for the headache and goes about making himself somewhat presentable, all the while wishing they had a coffee maker. It’s not that he hasn’t dealt with a slight hangover headache before, he’s just usually better about it, especially when they’re working.

He’s human. He slips up. Sue him.

He knew they weren’t going into the field today, and it would take another day or two of research at least to peg down the specific freak of the week, so no real harm or worry done.

When he exits the bathroom four minutes later, Lee thankfully isn’t in the room. Dean grabs some of the articles to glance over in the car and after a pause moves the whiskey from the table to inside one of the cabinets.

John had been gone last night, he remembers that much. Probably doing his own share of drinking, or researching, or a combination of both. They’re both doing more research now that Sam’s been gone.

Dean’s still in a motel room with two beds even though Sam no longer sleeps in the one furthest from the door. There’s just Dean’s rumpled sheets and the mostly untouched set one mattress over. It wouldn’t be a far cry to assume that he’s in the room by himself, if not for the other duffel stuffed between one of the beds and the wall.

He closes the cupboard a bit too hard, which derails the train again. Dean then grabs the Impala’s keys and a set for the room. Keys and papers in hand, he locks the door behind him and isn’t surprised to find Lee waiting by the Impala. The guy’s serious, Dean can give him that much.

“All good?”

“Peachy. General hardware store got what we need?” Dean asks as he slides into the Impala and starts her up. Lee slides into the passenger seat, his body too small in Dean’s peripheral vision compared to what he’s used to. He tries to let it go.

“Mhm,” Lee hums in affirmation. As soon as Dean turns on the car, Survivor blares from the speakers. There’s no noise of complaint from Lee, who taps his finger on his knee in time to the beat. Dean doesn’t have to remind him that the driver has the rights to pick the music.

He doesn’t get to see the reluctant smile on his passenger’s face because of course he knows that, he just likes to press Dean’s buttons in only the way he can.

Dean’s doing just fine, really.

And Lee, damnit, apparently isn’t very good at keeping his nose where it belongs. “You sure you’re alright, man? Not so much worried about the drinking as I am the spaciness you got goin’ on.”

“I’m fine, Lee,” Dean brushes off with his usual ease. Lee doesn’t know him well enough yet to see the crinkles near his eyes or the lack of drumming against the steering wheel that counteract his statement.

“Just want to make sure your head’s in the game, especially with a case as complex as this one.”

Dean steals a glance away from the road to look at Lee. The man’s not joking or poking fun at him, there’s general concern for Dean and probably Lee’s own wellbeing as a factor of how Dean’s doing.

“Head’s right where it’s supposed to be. As long as it’s attached to my shoulders, we’re good to go.”

He reaches forward and turns up the music, a clear sign to anyone that knows him or doesn’t that the conversation is done.

The general store isn’t far from the motel, and Lee climbs out without complaint as soon as Dean pulls into a spot. It’s apparently still early for the small town, and all the spots around them are empty. Dean leaves the car running, seeing as Lee shouldn’t take long to get what they need, and the music helps clear some of the cobwebs from his mind. The bass isn’t great for his pounding head, but it’s fine. It’s all fine.

He rereads one article, then two, and starts in on one of the medical examiner’s reports. He’s halfway through that when the tape runs out and he has to eject it to flip it over and let it run again.

Dean knows the album backwards and forwards, so even before the characteristic guitar picks start up, his hand is tapping against the folder in his grasp. Then his head moves to the three heavy beats. It’s second nature, really, ingrained in him. He’s listened to the album for as far back as his memory goes.

There’s a fleeting moment where he can hear it in his head as John drives him, Mary, and baby Sam to the park, windows down, classic rock being shared with whoever drives by. Before everything changed.

Dean flips the report over and starts the one for the second victim. His eyes are down as he scans over the details he’s already familiar with and commits to memory those he isn’t. When the lyrics start up, he mouths along with them without even thinking about it.

He can carry a semi-decent tune if the song is right, but the moment or the surroundings never are. So lip syncing it is. He doesn’t realize how into it he is until he hits the steering wheel with the folder on one of the heavy drum beats.

But it’s not like anyone’s watching.

_And he’s watching us all with the eeeeeeye…_ Dean closes his eyes and follows along, lost in the music within the four metallic walls that surround him, all his cares in the world stuck outside for the next four minutes and four seconds.

* * *

Lee knows something is up with Dean Winchester. John Winchester, too, by extension. But it isn’t his place to ask for specifics, and as long as his life isn’t in any more danger because of it, let them do whatever they want. He’s there because he was called to help, so that’s what he’ll do. If that means putting up with Dean’s misplaced anger, fine, he’ll do that too. Supply runs? No problem.

What he hadn’t expected, however, is what he sees when he glances over at the Impala while the bored teenage boy is ringing up his purchases.

Dean freaking Winchester, Mr. Stone Cold False Bravado, is drumming along to a Survivor song on the wheel of the Impala. Based on his intense lip syncing, it doesn’t take Lee but a few phrases to guess that it’s ‘Eye of the Tiger’. Dean’s in his own little world, apparently oblivious to the fact that Lee has a front row seat to the one man band.

The song must end because soon Dean is back to subtly bopping his head along to the beat and reading whatever file he has open in front of him. Lee is still chuckling as he gets the bag of items from the clerk. He quickly schools his expression before he exits the store, though.

He’s not about to let Dean know he saw that little display.

No, he’ll save that, and smile when he thinks about it from time to time. Mostly, he’ll wonder where that Dean Winchester has been spending all his time and if Lee will ever be allowed in his presence. Looks like a fun guy, to say the least.

* * *

Dean is leafing through one of the newspaper clippings when Lee comes back into the Impala a few minutes later. He sets the bag of supplies in the back and gets into the passenger seat.

“They have everything?”

“For a small store, they’re pretty damn well stocked, we’re all set.” He pauses for a moment, as if thinking of something, before he says, “Man, I miss the title track?”

Dean looks over at him and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I would’ve pegged you as more of a ‘Summer Nights’ guy.” It’s as close as he’ll get to a joke.

Lee lets out a ‘psh’ and waves his hand. “Nah. Not enough ‘umph’ if you get what I mean.”

“That I do,” Dean has to agree. He misses the bantering, sure, but that isn’t to say it’s not nice to have someone around that appreciates the same music he does.

He puts the Impala into reverse and as he drives out of the lot, turns the music up again. Lee’s definitely into it, which is amusing. It’s not enough to get Dean himself fully involved like he was by himself just a few minutes ago, but it gets his fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

It’s progress.

Maybe working with the guy from time to time will work out after all. Just maybe. Dean figures that sharing some classic rock while on the road to taking down evil isn’t a bad place to start.


End file.
